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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28933899">Pimpernel Fell</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eigon/pseuds/Eigon'>Eigon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett, Pimpernel Smith</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Books, Concerts, Gen, Nazi Germany, References to Shakespeare, Third Reich, animal experimentation (mentioned), references to Lewis Carroll</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:29:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,734</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28933899</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eigon/pseuds/Eigon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>I really enjoyed "It's not the Years, it's the Milage" by MovesLikeBucky – which has Aziraphale and Crowley taking the parts of Indy and Marion in the first Indiana Jones film.<br/>But before Indiana Jones, there was Pimpernel Smith, a 1941 film starring Leslie Howard, playing an archaeology professor who rescued intellectuals from the Nazis just before the Second World War.<br/>I didn't want to make Aziraphale into an archaeology professor, but the antiquarian book trade was Europe-wide at the time, so that's what I started with.  The plot of the film doesn't really work without the archaeology students and the romance sub-plot, and I changed the order of the escapes (and added a couple), but I did use quite a few characters from the film, like General von Graum, who is great fun to write dialogue for.<br/>The story is set in the spring of 1937.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Just Another War?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Some time in the nineteenth century, Aziraphale had got into the habit of having the Times delivered to the bookshop every day.  It was a good way of keeping a general eye on what humans in England thought to be important, and it made writing reports for Heaven so much easier.<br/>
</p><p>
In the last few years, though, the news from Europe – and particularly Germany - had become increasingly concerning.  Every time Aziraphale picked up the newspaper there was some story or other about that strange little Austrian with the comical moustache who had become, somewhat improbably, Chancellor of Germany, and had now pronounced himself to be the Fuehrer of the Third Reich.  Aziraphale was rather hazy on when the Second Reich had been – and indeed the First Reich.  He supposed he had been busy in England when that had been going on in Germany.<br/>
</p><p>
Aziraphale was worried by the Third Reich.  He was convinced that, sooner rather than later, Europe would slide inexorably into another war.<br/>
</p><p>
So far, Heaven had not taken his concerns seriously.  They hadn't even come to terms with the fact that wars were not fought with sword and shield and spear any more.  In fact, they were barely aware of muskets and cannons - and the Great War had been fought with poison gas and artillery that could level entire villages.  Soldiers had been mown down by machine gun fire in their thousands.  Both Heaven and Hell had been overwhelmed with new souls - so much so that they had spared little energy to take notice of what was happening on Earth now, in the aftermath of the conflict. </p>
<p>"Just another war," Aziraphale muttered, unhappily, thinking back to his last briefing from Michael, when he'd tried to bring matters to her attention.  "We've seen it all before.  Don't trouble yourself, Principality.  Just keep writing your reports and keep up to date with your scheduled blessings and leave the strategy to us."  He made a rude noise which indicated what he thought of Michael's strategy, which was still stalled around the Bronze Age as far as he could see.<br/>
</p><p>
He considered the problem as he sipped his tea and looked out from his desk at the street outside the shop window.<br/>
</p><p>
He certainly couldn't prevent another war, but maybe he could do some good while Heaven was too busy to pay much attention to him.  Normally, he would have welcomed the chance to collect more books and do more reading, but this time he would have felt guilty if he was indulging himself when he could be doing something more helpful.  It occurred to him that he could both collect books and do something to help at least some of the humans who were experiencing problems in Germany.  Thanks to the international antiquarian book trade, he had human contacts scattered across Europe.  It might be time to put them to use.<br/>
</p><p>
There was a book dealer in Leipzig, for instance, who had been very helpful in the hunting down of a rare Lutheran Bible – it had 32 copper plates, and woodcut illustrations in the text, and it had been very satisfying to track it down and add it to his collection.  He sent Herr Rosenthal a letter, enquiring about any collections that might be for sale.<br/>
</p><p>
The reply came gratifyingly quickly.  It seemed that the Ducal Library in Weimar[1] was interested in selling a small collection of occult texts.  "Not the sort of thing I normally deal in," Herr Rosenthal said in his letter, "but I know you have a specialist interest."<br/>
</p><p>
Aziraphale was on the next boat-train from London.</p>
<p>It was so much easier to travel across Europe now that there were railways everywhere.  There was something disconcerting, though, about the young man in uniform who checked his travel papers at the German border.  Aziraphale couldn't quite put his finger on what was wrong.  He'd had papers checked before when he was travelling, after all.  He was sure it wasn't just his imagination, though – some of the German and French passengers on the train seemed quite nervous.<br/>
</p><p>
Once inside Germany, the feeling of unease left him.  His French may have left a great deal to be desired but his German was excellent, if a little old fashioned, and the countryside was as beautiful as ever.  He had travelled through the region before, several times.  There was, for instance, the time he had been a passenger in a coach-and-six which had got stuck in the mud outside – Kassel, he thought it had been.  He distinctly remembered getting quite filthy helping to push the coach back onto the road, anyway.  He'd been very fond of that coat with the shoulder cape, and it had never been the same again.</p>
<p>It had been far too long since he was last in Leipzig[2].  He felt a small smile playing around his lips as soon as he stepped off the train, and decided to walk to his destination.  The buildings were elegant, the streets were clean, and as he got closer to the Graphisches Viertel – the booksellers' quarter of the city – it seemed that nearly every second shop sold books.  Then there were the publishing houses, and the German National Library....  He enjoyed living in London, but there were times he wondered if it wouldn't have been just as good to open his shop in Germany.<br/>
</p><p>
Herr Rosenthal's shop was quiet when he entered.  In fact, he seemed to be the only person in there apart from the bookseller himself.  Aziraphale stepped towards the counter with his hand outstretched in greeting.  "Greetings from England!" he said, smiling.  "I got your letter and came as soon as I could."<br/>
</p><p>
Herr Rosenthal managed the slightest of tight-lipped smiles.  He was clearly a worried man.  Aziraphale's feelings of contentment slipped away instantly.<br/>
"But, what's wrong, dear fellow?" he asked.<br/>
</p><p>
Herr Rosenthal shrugged.  "I don't want to burden you with my worries, Herr Fell," he said.  He managed a more genuine smile.  This one nearly got as far as his eyes.  "It is good to see you."<br/>
</p><p>
"Well, if you're sure," Aziraphale said doubtfully.  "I hope I haven't come at an inconvenient time – I was hoping you'd put me up for the night, as you did last time I was here."<br/>
</p><p>
Herr Rosenthal grimaced slightly.  "I – don't think that would be a good idea, this time," he said.  "I'm sorry, but the new laws....  There's a good hotel near the Hauptbahnhof."<br/>
</p><p>
"Oh.  Of course.  I wouldn't want to break any rules," Aziraphale said.  This was very worrying.  Herr Rosenthal had always been so hospitable before.  "Erm, how is Frau Rosenthal?  And the children?"<br/>
</p><p>
Herr Rosenthal gave a deep sigh.  "These are worrying times for all of us," he said.<br/>
</p><p>
This time, Aziraphale didn't allow Herr Rosenthal to deflect him.  Something was very wrong, and he needed to know what it was.<br/>
</p><p>
The answer was in the very forefront of Herr Rosenthal's mind.  There were all sorts of rules and restrictions on people of the Jewish faith that had not existed the last time Aziraphale had visited Germany.  He could also see that the youngest Rosenthal child was no longer able to attend school, and the older two had not been able to find any work.<br/>
</p><p>
"Can we go into the back room to talk?" Aziraphale asked.  "There may be something I can do to help."<br/>
</p><p>
All it took was a genuine expression of sympathy, and only a very slight compulsion to tell the truth, for the whole story to come flooding out....<br/>
</p><p>
It had got harder and harder for Herr Rosenthal to make a living from his shop – Aryans were encouraged to stay away from Jewish businesses, and he had lost several regular customers.  "I've been thinking of moving to Switzerland," he said.  "I have friends in Geneva – but the Swiss have a quota on how many Jews they will accept.  I applied, and I'm waiting to hear from them, but...."  He shrugged helplessly.  He didn't need to say that he expected the application to be denied.<br/>
</p><p>
If there was one thing Aziraphale had endless experience of, it was paperwork.  He snapped his fingers discreetly – and in a few days, a letter would arrive from the Swiss Embassy, containing visas for Herr Rosenthal and all his family.<br/>
</p><p>
"I do hope you'll give me first refusal on your stock, when you go," Aziraphale said.  "You'll need enough money to set up a new shop, after all."<br/>
</p><p>
Herr Rosenthal continued to look gloomy.  "If you gave me your money, Herr Fell, the State would just take half of it.  The only way we can leave the country is if we leave everything behind – the State takes the business, and the house, and half of our savings, and then we must convert what is left into the currency of the country we're going to – and the exchange rates are very bad...."<br/>
</p><p>
"I'm so sorry."  There was nothing Aziraphale could do about all of that.  "I had no idea that things had got so bad."<br/>
</p><p>
"But you are here about the collection," Herr Rosenthal said.  "I can at least give you a letter of introduction to the Direktor of the Ducal Library...."</p>
<p>Aziraphale dined alone that evening, in a small restaurant near the Hauptbahnhof, and didn't enjoy the Rostbratwurst and mashed potato anything like as much as he had been expecting to.  He was increasingly getting the feeling that normality – the clean streets, the efficient railways, the beautiful countryside – was just a thin veneer over something very dark and very unpleasant.<br/>
</p><p>
The following morning he got on a train to Weimar.  He didn't go back to Herr Rosenthal's shop to say goodbye.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Ducal Library</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Aziraphale visits the Ducal Library in Weimar - and the local Gestapo headquarters.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The city of Weimar had only been a capital city very briefly, and the experience didn't seem to have made much of an impression.  The Weimar Republic had been a short lived affair, and Germany was once again governed from Berlin.  There hadn't even been time (among all the problems the Republic had faced) to build a proper National Assembly building.  If Aziraphale remembered correctly, the Assembly had met at the theatre.<br/>
</p><p>
He walked from the Bahnhof, noting the attractive historic buildings and the clean streets, and that vague undercurrent of unease that he felt everywhere, now that he was looking out for it.<br/>
</p><p>
The Stadtschloss was easy to find.  He had very clear memories of the last time he was here, over a hundred years before.  Was that why he had been travelling to Kassel?  He couldn't recall – but he did recall the small collection of books on Shakespeare that he had sold to the Library.  He was quite pleased to have made even a modest contribution to what was probably the best collection of books on Shakespeare in Europe.<br/>
</p><p>
He met Herr Wieland, the Direktor of the Library, outside the part of the Stadtschloss known as the Green Castle.  It didn't look much like a traditional idea of a castle, being a long, plain building with many windows, several stories high.  Inside, though, was the baroque hall he remembered perfectly, painted white with gold decoration around the balustrades and lined with shelf after shelf of leather bound books.  He stood just inside the entrance, smiling blissfully.<br/>
</p><p>
"Impressive, isn't it?" Herr Direktor said.  "Many of our visitors have a similar reaction to seeing it for the first time."<br/>
</p><p>
Aziraphale almost let slip that this was not the first time he had seen it (it hadn't changed at all).  "I – um – my grandfather came here, you know," he said.  "He sold you some books on Shakespeare.  He was very impressed by your collections."<br/>
</p><p>
Herr Wieland was leading the way across the hall, and through another set of doors.  "I can show you the collection later," he said.  "For now, though, I would like your opinion on the books the Library would like to dispose of."<br/>
</p><p>
They were being kept in the basement, almost as if the Library was ashamed of them.  There was no white paint or gold decoration here.  The books were piled on a trestle table against a plain brick wall, under a single unshaded lightbulb.<br/>
</p><p>
Aziraphale started sorting through the stacks immediately.<br/>
</p><p>
"You know how it is," said Herr Wieland.  "When you buy a collection, there are always some books that you didn't really want...."<br/>
</p><p>
Aziraphale nodded.  He was only listening with half an ear.  "My goodness," he said mildly, "you've got documents here from the Fraternitas Saturni!  The Rosicrucian texts are more common, but still very desirable.  Of course, they were printed in Kassel – I presume they came from a fairly local collection?"  He smiled as he pulled another book out of the pile.  "Ah, you have the Chymishe Hochzeit!  Excellent!"  He turned, and took off his reading glasses to look at the Direktor.  "Tell me," he said, "is there any particular reason that you wanted these books to be bought by someone from outside Germany?"<br/>
</p><p>
Even though they were alone, and the door to the basement was closed, Herr Wieland looked around before he answered and lowered his voice.  "Are you aware of the particular interests of our Fuehrer?" he asked.<br/>
</p><p>
"Ah – an interest in books of prophesy and the occult, I believe," Aziraphale answered, keeping his own voice quiet.<br/>
</p><p>
"That is why we wish to dispose of these books as far away from Germany as we can manage," Herr Wieland said.  "If we could have contacted a reputable bookdealer from the United States we would have done so, but Herr Rosenthal in Leipzig assured us that you are a bookdealer of the utmost discretion."<br/>
</p><p>
"That was very kind of him," Aziraphale said.  "I will certainly do my utmost to keep them out of the wrong hands."<br/>
</p><p>
"Danke, Herr Fell.  I will pack the crates to send to you myself."</p>
<p>They retired to the Direktor's office, where Aziraphale wrote out a rather large cheque, and Herr Wieland brought out a bottle of Asbach Uralt brandy.<br/>
"I imagine," Aziraphale said, sipping his brandy thoughtfully, "that there are people who would be better off as far away from Germany as possible, as well as books."<br/>
</p><p>
"Books, sadly, are easier to move than people," Herr Wieland said, "and people are very good at convincing themselves that things are not so bad as they feared, and everything will turn out all right in the end."<br/>
</p><p>
"You don't think that," Aziraphale commented.<br/>
</p><p>
"I have a friend who is a Jewish bookseller," Herr Wieland said.  "And friends who work for opposition political parties.  I worry about their safety, but there is very little I can do to help."<br/>
</p><p>
"Maybe it would help to tell me about them," Aziraphale suggested.  </p>
<p>It was just after five when Aziraphale found himself passing the local office of the Gestapo, just as three young women came out of the door.  One of them was still fastening her headscarf.  "Excuse me," Aziraphale said.  "Are you closing for the evening?"<br/>
</p><p>
"The inspector will be there for a while longer, if you want to see him," one of the girls said, "and there are officers on duty through the night if you need them."<br/>
</p><p>
Aziraphale raised his hat politely.  "Thank you, my dears.  That's very helpful."<br/>
</p><p>
As they walked away, he looked the building up and down for a moment, and then walked through the double doors.<br/>
</p><p>
The entrance hall opened onto a large office, where a morose young man was typing.  As he looked up, Aziraphale smiled breezily.  "It's all right – I have an appointment," he said, and was through the door of the inspector's office before the young man could think of a reply.<br/>
</p><p>
The inspector was a middle-aged man with a sad, jowly face and thinning hair.  Half his desk was buried under a pile of files.  "I thought I said I wasn't to be disturbed again this evening," he snapped, as he looked up.<br/>
</p><p>
"I do apologise," said Aziraphale.  "I've just come to ask about a young man called Gottfried.  Won't take a moment."<br/>
</p><p>
"Then you'll be pleased to hear that I've just signed a warrant for his arrest," the inspector said.  "As soon as the evening shift comes in, we'll be going to pick him up.  Why?  What's your business with him?"<br/>
</p><p>
"Oh, I have an interest in his welfare," Aziraphale said, "and I'm afraid you're going to go home early."  He had been looking at the cluttered desk, and had noticed a family photograph in a silver frame on the only clear corner.  It showed the inspector with a plump and smiling woman who was holding a small boy in her arms.  "I think you're going to take your charming wife to dinner tonight.  There will be plenty of time to serve the warrant tomorrow."<br/>
</p><p>
He had thought of encouraging the inspector to examine his life choices, and maybe take up a new career in chicken farming, or playing the accordion – but that was the sort of miracle he would have to explain to Heaven, and whoever took the inspector's place might well turn out to be worse than him.<br/>
</p><p>
His modest suggestion was all that was needed to get the inspector out of the office, though.  He was already half way to the coat rack before Aziraphale had finished speaking, murmuring something about getting a table at the Typograph[3].<br/>
</p><p>
As soon as the inspector was gone, Aziraphale stepped round the desk and examined the arrest warrant, which was filled out with worrying words like "sedition" and "conspiracy".  Beside the warrant was the Gestapo file on Herr Gottfried.  He lifted the cover carefully and flicked through the documents inside.  "Is that all the poor fellow has done – edit a newsletter for an opposition party?" Aziraphale murmured.  He took a careful note of the address at the top of the first sheet of paper in the file.</p>
<p>The following evening, a Gestapo car pulled up outside the same address, only to be told by the housekeeper that Herr Gottfried had gone away, and she didn't know when he was likely to be back.  She said nothing about the odd looking English gentleman in the cream coloured coat, who had spoken charmingly to her in old-fashioned German when he had visited the house the previous evening.  Herr Gottfried had laughed when she asked about him, as he was hurriedly packing his suitcase, and had called the strange gentleman a guardian angel....</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>[3] When I was on holiday in Germany, many years ago, we spent a pleasant evening in a pub called the Typograph, somewhere in Kassel.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Concert for Peace</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Aziraphale attends the Concert for Peace in Berlin, and meets General von Graum.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Aziraphale got back to the hotel from warning Herr Gottfried, an envelope was lying on his bed – a faintly glowing envelope with gold trim.<br/>
Aziraphale suddenly felt rather anxious.  Why was Heaven getting in touch with him now?<br/>
Reluctantly, he opened the letter:</p>
<p>To Principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, greetings.</p>
<p>Glad to see you are in Germany already.  Well done for anticipating your latest instructions.  Your report on the situation in Europe has been noted, and it is with this in mind that we draw your attention to the Concert for Peace which has been arranged in Berlin in two days time.  This will be an international affair, hosted by the German government.  Proceed there immediately (a ticket is enclosed).  You are to bless the Concert and everyone involved in it to the utmost of your ability, in the hope that the goodwill generated by the event will avert (or at least delay) war in the region.</p>
<p>From: The Blessings Department</p>
<p>Well, that was certainly a surprise!  Aziraphale checked the train times, and was on his way to Berlin the following morning.</p>
<p>The Konzerthaus was an impressive neo-Classical building, and it seemed that officials from all the Embassies in Berlin had been invited.  Aziraphale wasn't sure how to explain his own presence there, but fortunately the usher who accepted his ticket didn't ask.<br/>
</p><p>
Aziraphale stood in a quiet corner of the foyer, watching the arriving diplomats.  It wasn't often that he was given official permission to use as much power for a blessing as he wanted, so he was going to make the most of it.<br/>
</p><p>
No-one noticed the hazy golden glow in the corner as Aziraphale concentrated on gathering as much power as he could manage into his hands - and when he wanted to, he could gather a lot of power.  He blessed the Concert for Peace, and the organisers, and the musicians and performers, and the backstage crew, and all the Ambassadors and their staff, and everyone else in the audience.<br/>
</p><p>
He gave a deep sigh, and watched the power of the blessing settle over the entire building as a golden haze that only he could see.  It was the best work that he could do, and he was pleased that the Blessings Department had allowed him to do it.  It would take more than one concert, of course, but maybe the German government were serious about wanting peace, with the memories of the Great War so clear in everyone's minds.<br/>
</p><p>
He followed the rest of the crowd into the auditorium and found his seat.  Settling himself, he looked up at one of the boxes overlooking the stage – the Fuehrer himself was attending, along with several members of his staff.  He hadn't realised that his blessing would include Hitler himself.<br/>
</p><p>
"I do hope it makes a difference," he murmured to himself, as the lights went down and the curtain rose.<br/>
</p><p>
He enjoyed the Beethoven piano sonata – of course the concert would begin with a German composer, and Karl Meyer was a pianist at the height of his powers[4].<br/>
</p><p>
There was some Wagner, too – a soprano Aziraphale was unfamiliar with, singing an aria from the Ring Cycle while waving a shiny sword and shield around.  She was wearing the usual horned helmet and long blonde plaits that they always seemed to dress the Valkyrie in.  Aziraphale had no idea how that fashion had caught on – it certainly wasn't anything historical.  He was sure he would have remembered.<br/>
</p><p>
Then Karl Meyer took the stage again, to play something from The Well-Tempered Clavier.  If they were going to play a piece by Bach, at an international event of this kind, Aziraphale would have expected the French Overture, or the Italian Concerto.  He was disappointed to find that it was one of the other fugues in the collection.</p>
<p>That brought the concert up to the interval, and as the house lights came up, Aziraphale headed for the bar to mingle.<br/>
He found himself a glass of really quite excellent Reisling – but noticed as he surveyed the drinks on offer that all the wines were German.  There was nothing French, or Italian, or even Spanish, on offer at all.  The beer was all German, too.<br/>
</p><p>
Several German officers in impressive uniforms were standing to one side of the bar, looking out over the throng of people.  Aziraphale leaned across to one of the waiters.  "Tell me, who are those gentlemen?" he asked.<br/>
</p><p>
"Oh, that's General von Graum[5]," the waiter replied.  "I'm not sure who the other officers are, sir, but I think they're all Gestapo."<br/>
</p><p>
"How interesting – thank you," Aziraphale said, and ambled towards them.  The large man with the most gold braid on his uniform nodded pleasantly to Aziraphale.  This, he assumed, was General von Graum.<br/>
</p><p>
"Fine concert, is it not?" said the General.<br/>
</p><p>
"Most enjoyable," Aziraphale said, "but I was surprised to see that the first half was all German music."<br/>
</p><p>
"German music is the best in the world," von Graum said.<br/>
</p><p>
"Yes, of course," Aziraphale murmured, "but at an international event...."<br/>
</p><p>
"We must, of course, use events such as this to demonstrate to the world how fine German music is," the General said.<br/>
</p><p>
"And German wine, and German beer," Aziraphale said.<br/>
</p><p>
"But of course!"<br/>
</p><p>
Aziraphale couldn't help thinking that the General was rather missing the point of an international event.<br/>
</p><p>
"You are English, yes?" von Graum went on.<br/>
</p><p>
"Broadly speaking," Aziraphale said.  "I've certainly been living in England for a long time."<br/>
</p><p>
"I thought I detected the accent."  The General sounded quite pleased with himself.  "Maybe you can help me – I am conducting a study into the English sense of humour.  I have read your English magazine, Punch, and I cannot find anything funny in there at all!"<br/>
</p><p>
"It is something of an acquired taste," Aziraphale murmured.<br/>
</p><p>
"But what about this writer?" He pulled a battered copy of Alice Through the Looking Glass out of his back pocket and waved it at Aziraphale.  "He's supposed to be a comic genius, yet listen to this:<br/>
</p><p>
'T'was brillig and the slithy toves<br/>
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe....'"<br/>
</p><p>
Aziraphale gave the officer a beaming smile.  "'All mimsy were the borogroves, and the mome raths outgrabe,'" he finished.<br/>
</p><p>
"But what does it mean?" von Graum asked plaintively.<br/>
</p><p>
"It's a nonsense poem – it can mean whatever you wish it to mean," Aziraphale said.  He went on cheerfully, as if delivering a terrible warning: "'Beware the Jubjub bird and shun the frumious Bandersnatch!"<br/>
</p><p>
The General stuffed the book back into his pocket, scowling.  "I give up.  I will never understand this nonsense."  Then another thought struck him.  "What is your opinion on Shakespeare?"<br/>
</p><p>
"Oh, I've just come from Weimar," Aziraphale said happily.  "I had the great pleasure of being shown the Shakespeare collection at the Ducal Library there!"<br/>
</p><p>
"Ah, that is because he is one of the greatest German writers!" the General said.<br/>
</p><p>
Aziraphale stared at him in amazement.  As he was the only person there who had actually met Shakespeare, he thought he would have noticed if the Bard of Stratford-on-Avon had been German.<br/>
</p><p>
"You don't believe me!" von Graum said, "yet it has been conclusively proved by German scholars!"<br/>
</p><p>
"Who are, of course, the best in the world," Aziraphale said drily.<br/>
</p><p>
Fortunately for Aziraphale's sanity, the bell rang at that moment for the second half.</p>
<p>After the strange conversation in the interval, and the resolutely German first half of the concert, Aziraphale was pleasantly surprised when the second half began with Strauss's Olympische Hymne, which had been written for the Olympic Games in Berlin the previous year.<br/>
</p><p>
It was the nearest thing to internationalism that the programme provided that evening.  The hymn was followed by a clarinet sonata by Brahms, and then Karl Meyer returned to the stage to finish the evening with Schumann's Fantasie in C.  It was one of the best performances of the piece that Aziraphale had ever attended.  Meyer played it just as it should be, with a light and dreamy touch, rather than the more vigorous approach of certain other pianists Aziraphale could mention.<br/>
</p><p>
The whole evening was disappointing for Aziraphale, though.  He was sure by the end of the concert that the German government had no intention of promoting international peace – this had just been an exercise in bragging to the world about how wonderful Germany was now that Mr Hitler was in power.  The biggest blessing he'd performed in years seemed destined to result in failure.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>[4] Karl Meyer was the name of the pianist rescued by Pimpernel Smith in the film.<br/>[5] General von Graum was the head of the Gestapo in the film.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Escape from Germany</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>von Graum acts on his suspicions of the annoying English bookseller, Herr Fell.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If he'd had any doubts about the sincerity of the German government on the evening of the Concert, he had none the following day.  Karl Meyer had disappeared.</p>
<p>Aziraphale had been thinking – fuming, if truth be told – about General von Graum's comments about Shakespeare.  He had a book in his shop, which he had only bought because of the ridiculousness of the premise – the so-called scholar who had written it had been convinced that Shakespeare was actually the Earl of Oxford.<br/>
With a snap of his fingers, the book was in his hand.  It was the ideal pretext for him to go and visit General von Graum – and find out what had happened to Karl Meyer.</p>
<p>"Are you sure the General was expecting you?" the secretary asked, dubiously.<br/>
</p><p>
"Oh, quite sure.  It's a matter of some importance, and I need to show the General my research."<br/>
</p><p>
The secretary stood up from his desk and went to the tall double doors behind him.  He leaned through.  "Sir, there's an English bookseller called Herr Fell to see you.  He says you're expecting him."<br/>
</p><p>
"What, Marx?  Oh, yes, I'll see him.  Why not?"<br/>
</p><p>
The secretary opened the door wider, and ushered Aziraphale into a large office.  It was so large it even contained a grand piano off to one side.  General von Graum's desk had a small semi-circular bookshelf built into it, facing the door, and there was another bookshelf by the wall on the way in, with a large painting of people in Classical drapery above it.  Aziraphale beamed, and bent to examine the volumes in front of the desk.  "Ah, I see you're well provided with reading matter – and the classics, too," he said, with approval.  "Goethe, Shakespeare in – ah – the original German?"<br/>
</p><p>
"What is it you want, Herr Fell?" von Graum asked.<br/>
</p><p>
"Well, it's about Shakespeare," Aziraphale said.  "I've got this book that you've simply got to have a look at.  You see, the writer was convinced that Shakespeare was  actually the Earl of Oxford – and if he was the Earl of Oxford, he couldn't possibly have been German, could he?"<br/>
</p><p>
"Hmph," von Graum said, ungraciously, though he took the book.<br/>
</p><p>
"Oh, and while I'm here," Aziraphale went on, "I'd like to report a missing person.  It seems that marvellous pianist who performed last night has gone missing."<br/>
</p><p>
"That 'marvellous pianist' is an enemy of the Reich," von Graum said.  "He hasn't disappeared.   He's been arrested."<br/>
</p><p>
"Oh, dear.  That is bad news."<br/>
</p><p>
"On the contrary, Herr Fell, it is very good news.  It opens the way for a truly patriotic pianist to take his place."<br/>
</p><p>
"Well, I'm sure you know best," Aziraphale said, pressing his lips primly together.  "Still, it seems a pity.  I suppose he's here somewhere, in Gestapo headquarters?"<br/>
</p><p>
"Oh no.  It was a very clear cut case," von Graum said.  "He's well on his way to Sachsenburg[6] by now.  Now, if there was anything else?  I am a very busy man."<br/>
</p><p>
"No, nothing else," Aziraphale said.  "I do hope you enjoy the book, Herr General."</p>
<p>It didn't take Aziraphale long to find Sachsenburg on a map of Germany.  It was in Saxony, on the edge of a town called Frankenburg.  He was pleased to note that it had a railway station.</p>
<p>The prison of Sachsenburg had originally been a large textile mill, in a picturesque location beside a small river, with woodlands covering the hills around it.  It was quite a scramble up the hill to a position where Aziraphale could see down into the yard surrounding the old mill, and really quite unpleasantly muddy.  In spite of this, his shoes were staying resolutely clean.<br/>
</p><p>
From the cover of the woods, he could see squads of prisoners crossing the yard at intervals, accompanied by armed guards.<br/>
</p><p>
He had to wait for several hours, but eventually a group of prisoners came out into the yard who were not looking down at the ground as they walked.  They were looking around, as if the prison was somewhere unfamiliar to them.  Aziraphale's eyesight was particularly keen, despite the reading glasses he occasionally wore, and he recognised Herr Meyer among them at once.<br/>
</p><p>
And with a click of his fingers, Herr Meyer was beside him on the hillside.<br/>
</p><p>
He had been in the middle of taking a step, and he staggered forwards, righted himself, and gaped at Aziraphale.  "What just happened?" he demanded.  "Who are you?"<br/>
</p><p>
"First things first – I'm a friend who greatly appreciates your talent as a pianist," Aziraphale said.  "Secondly, the Czech border is only 40 kilometres away, and we'd better get moving."<br/>
</p><p>
"But...." Herr Meyer allowed Aziraphale to take him by the arm, and followed  unresisting in his wake through the undergrowth.  "I was down there, and now I'm up here.  How...?"<br/>
</p><p>
"It would take far too long to explain, dear boy," Aziraphale said.  He glanced back at the prison yard.  "Ah, they seem to have noticed that you are missing.  I really think we'd better run for it."</p>
<p>"Sir," Marx began, nervously.  "I'm afraid I have to report that Herr Meyer has escaped from Sachsenburg."<br/>
</p><p>
"Has he, indeed?"  General von Graum did not sound particularly upset by the revelation.  "Do you know, there was only one person outside the Gestapo who knew where Meyer had been taken?  That annoying English bookseller, Marx.  Now, if we arrest him, I'm sure he will lead us to a whole network of people who are trying to smuggle enemies of the Reich out of the country."</p>
<p>When Aziraphale returned to Weimar, he went straight to the Green Castle to see Herr Direktor Wieland.<br/>
</p><p>
"I'm so sorry for the delay," he said, seated comfortably in the Direktor's office.  "The trip to Berlin was an invitation I couldn't refuse, and then something important came up that I had to deal with – but I'm here now to take the packing cases away."<br/>
</p><p>
"I wonder if you would consider taking more than the packing cases?" Herr Wieland said.  "You see, I had a telephone call from Herr Gottfried, from Paris, and he told me that he was only there because a strange Englishman visited him.  He described you quite accurately.  So I know that you have not been merely a sympathetic ear for my worries."<br/>
</p><p>
"One does what one can," Aziraphale murmured modestly.<br/>
</p><p>
"Do you remember, I told you about Dr Beckendorf[7]?"<br/>
</p><p>
"The guinea pig man?"<br/>
</p><p>
"His research does involve experiments on guinea pigs, yes, and his results are very promising so far – but he is worried that he will not be able to carry out his research for much longer.  You see, he has always refused to work for the Nazis, and if he refuses again, I fear very much...."<br/>
</p><p>
"Quite.  I see the problem," Aziraphale said.<br/>
</p><p>
"So if you would do the kindness of taking him with you, as your assistant?"<br/>
</p><p>
"Well, I shall need someone reliable to look after the packing cases," Aziraphale said.  "I have a great respect for railway porters, but they're not always the most careful of souls."<br/>
</p><p>
Herr Wieland came around the desk to shake Aziraphale's hand.  "I hoped you would say that – that's why I took the liberty of inviting Dr Beckendorf here today.  He's waiting with the packing cases."<br/>
</p><p>
Aziraphale got to his feet.  "Well, we'd better get started, then."</p>
<p>Dr Beckendorf was a tall man, who smoked a large pipe with a curling stem and extremely strong smelling tobacco.  It was a habit Aziraphale had never acquired, though he had dabbled a little with snuff in the Regency period.  Being confined in a railway carriage with a heavy smoker for several hours was not something Aziraphale wished to repeat in a hurry, even though it was in a good cause.<br/>
</p><p>
They changed trains without incident at Erfurt and got the packing cases safely on the train to Frankfurt.  Then at Frankfurt they changed again for the Paris train.  Aziraphale was careful to speak to "Mr Beck" only in English in front of the railway porters who were assisting with the packing cases.</p>
<p>At Kehl, the border with France on the River Rhine, General von Graum was waiting for them.<br/>
</p><p>
"I would very much like to have a word with you, Herr Fell," he said., "if you would care to get off the train with me for a moment?"<br/>
</p><p>
It was quite clear to Aziraphale that this was not optional.  He was very glad he'd sent Dr Beckendorf to sit in the guard's van with the packing cases.  As far as he was aware, the Gestapo had not issued a warrant for Dr Beckendorf's arrest yet, so he could use his own passport, as well as the protection of posing as an English bookseller's assistant, to cross the border into France.<br/>
</p><p>
"I'd be delighted to assist you, of course, General," he said pleasantly.  "I assume you haven't come all this way just to return my book about the Earl of Oxford?"<br/>
</p><p>
"Blast your book, and blast the Earl of Oxford," General von Graum growled.  "No," he went on as Aziraphale descended the steps to the platform, "it's about a certain pianist."  He led the way into the waiting room.  The men with him stayed outside, guarding the door.<br/>
</p><p>
"I hope it won't take long – I'll miss my train," Aziraphale said.<br/>
</p><p>
"Then you will miss the train," von Graum said.  "Now, about Herr Meyer...."<br/>
</p><p>
"I do hope he's all right," Aziraphale said.<br/>
</p><p>
"You should know, Herr Fell," von Graum said.  "Since you helped him escape."<br/>
</p><p>
"Oh, so he's not at Sachsenburg any longer, then?" Aziraphale asked innocently.<br/>
</p><p>
"You know very well he is not!" von Graum said, raising his voice.  "Tell me, Herr Fell, how did you do it?  One moment he was within the prison yard, and the next – gone!"<br/>
</p><p>
"That does sound very mysterious," Aziraphale said.  There was a sound of a railway engine starting to pull away from the platform outside.  "Oh, dear, there goes the train.  How vexing."  He went to the window of the waiting room to watch – and just caught a glimpse of Dr Beckendorf's hawk-nosed profile and his stinking pipe through a carriage window.  He was safe across the border then – and so were the books.<br/>
</p><p>
When he turned from the window he was slightly alarmed to see that von Graum was pointing a pistol at him.  "Now, really, there's no need for that," he said, but he raised his hands in surrender just the same.<br/>
</p><p>
"How did you do it, Herr Fell?" von Graum demanded, "and who were you working with?"<br/>
</p><p>
"Oh, I always work alone," Aziraphale said.  "Booksellers tend to be fairly solitary, you know."<br/>
</p><p>
"We know it had to have been you," von Graum said.  "You were the only person outside the Gestapo who knew where he was, because I told you myself.  We will get the truth out of you, one way or another."<br/>
</p><p>
Aziraphale couldn't disguise his smile.  "I'm afraid you wouldn't believe me if I told you the truth," he said.<br/>
</p><p>
One of the men outside came in then.  "The train back to Frankfurt will be here in five minutes, sir," he said.<br/>
</p><p>
"Good."  He waved his pistol at Aziraphale.  "We will wait on the platform outside.  You will stand over there, under the light, where I can see you, Herr Fell."<br/>
</p><p>
The Gestapo man leaned close to von Graum.  "But sir – he has only to step past the barrier, across the frontier!"<br/>
</p><p>
"That's exactly what I want him to do," von Graum said.<br/>
</p><p>
"Ah, shot while trying to escape!"<br/>
</p><p>
"And by me," von Graum said, "by me."<br/>
</p><p>
"That would be terribly inconvenient," Aziraphale said, from under the light.  "There'll be paperwork!  Besides, then you'll never know how Herr Meyer escaped."<br/>
</p><p>
"Ah, so you do admit it, then!"<br/>
</p><p>
"I suppose there's no point in denying it, at this stage," Aziraphale said.  "But really, what were you thinking of?  To hold a Concert for Peace and immediately arrest the star performer?  What sort of message does that send to the international community?  One would think that you were never serious about peace at all."<br/>
</p><p>
"How very astute of you, Herr Fell," von Graum said.  "You are quite right.  War will come – but we are not quite ready yet."<br/>
</p><p>
"So you're lulling the other European nations into a false sense of security?" Aziraphale asked.<br/>
</p><p>
"You really are too dangerous to leave alive, aren't you?" von Graum said.<br/>
</p><p>
Aziraphale could hear the Frankfurt train coming now.  If he was going to get away, he didn't have much time left.<br/>
</p><p>
"Do you really think that what you are doing here in Germany is going un-noticed?" Aziraphale asked.  "If I can work it out, almost anyone can."<br/>
</p><p>
"They will work it out too late," von Graum said, "and we will have a German Empire spanning the world."<br/>
</p><p>
"You will never have a German Empire," Aziraphale said, "because you refuse to accept reality.  Shakespeare, for example, was the son of a glove-maker in Stratford-upon-Avon – which has never been in Germany."<br/>
</p><p>
At that moment, two things happened.  The Frankfurt train drew up beside the platform in a great cloud of steam – and the light above Aziraphale went out.<br/>
</p><p>
It really hardly counted as a miracle, Aziraphale thought, as he stepped quickly through the gate and into the darkness beyond.  A shot rang out, from General von Graum's pistol, but it went far wide of where Aziraphale was actually standing.  He strolled along the platform to where he could wait for the next train to Paris, humming There is a Tavern in the Town as he went[8].</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>[6] Sachsenburg was a real, early concentration camp.<br/>[7] Dr Beckendorf was the scientist with the guinea pigs who was rescued by Pimpernel Smith at the beginning of the film.<br/>[8] There is a Tavern in the Town was the tune whistled by Pimpernel Smith when he was helping people escape.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>[1] The Duchess Anna Amalia Library in Weimar was founded in 1691 by Duke Wilhelm Ernst, and in the 1930s it was known as the Ducal Library.  It is absolutely gorgeous inside – it even has a spiral staircase going up a "book tower" which reminds me very much of Aziraphale's shop!<br/>[2]Leipzig was the centre of the German book trade, with several important publishers, including the oldest music publishing firm in the world.  Sadly, much of this was destroyed in an Allied air raid in 1943.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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